


Mama Loved Her Back

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Tapas [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, Episode: s01e09 Trou Normand, F/F, Face-Sitting, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mommy Kink, Multiple Orgasms, No One Is Innocent Here, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, These Are Not Good People, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Abigail isn’t entirely sure which part of her desires Freddie Lounds, but it’s undeniable. Freddie is unlike anyone she’s ever known. She’s proud and sharp-tongued, quick-witted and unafraid, wears her beautiful clothes like armor, her red ringlet curls like a mane. Freddie means to exploit her--Abigail knows that; how couldn’t she?--but there’s never been anyone who didn’t use her for themselves.
So Abigail means to play the player first.





	Mama Loved Her Back

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Ship's Very First Explicit Femslash! I had a fabulous time writing this, and I'm not sorry in the least.
> 
> Much love and gratitude to the good folks over at [Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/) for running [#EatTheRare](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/HanniCreative_EatTheRare) and encouraging this filth and sin. More love and further gratitude to [Llewcie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/works) for betaing and leaving amazing comments in the margins. <3

_She didn't see the life left to be had,_

_All she saw was Darling Dear dark and sad._

_She held so tightly Darling Dear, four years old_

_Little did she know, Darling Dear had grown up dark and cold._

_Mama didn't know the strength in Darling Dear,_

_Befriended by the shadows, she had no remaining fears._

_She loved Mama and Mama loved her back,_

_But nothing was as beautiful as Darling Dear gone black._

 

_\--”Mama’s Not-So-Little Girl” by Emily Rutledge_

 

Abigail has never felt like this about anyone before, not even Marissa. The other women in her life have been more like Abigail the little girl, not the valkyrie her father made her, the siren who baited girls on the train. Submissive, pliant, timid--that’s the Abigail her mother raised, a daughter made in her own image. There’s no one else, not now, no one sunny-side-up and hard-boiled all at once. Alana, she supposes, sweet and simple and utterly, completely stupid. They’re nothing alike, though Abigail does see potential. If only she felt like being the one to break her.

The men are as unlikely a candidate for her heart, undeserving of her madness, unworthy of her sweetness. Poor Will fills a deep need in her gut that Abigail never knew she had, and she wants his love like she wants a father, except in all the wrong ways. That’s a secret best kept fantasy, though, a poem for her fingers to play in the night, a truth that evaporates fever-sweet with the dawn. There is Hannibal, of course, but he is...well, _Hannibal._ Something lurks within him, something dark and despicable, something far more sociopathic than her own blemished soul. Hannibal can only be loved like drought-plagued land loves the storm--it’s going to destroy the soil, but the dust loves it, anyway.

Abigail isn’t entirely sure which part of her desires Freddie Lounds, but it’s undeniable. Freddie is unlike anyone she’s ever known. She’s proud and sharp-tongued, quick-witted and unafraid, wears her beautiful clothes like armor, her red ringlet curls like a mane.

Freddie means to exploit her--Abigail knows that; how couldn’t she?--but there’s never been anyone who didn’t use her for themselves. Marissa, a friend to plague her mother with; Louise, a shield against her husband; Alana, a young, pretty thing to pity so she wouldn’t feel so sorry for herself; Will, a surrogate for his empty, aching loneliness; Hannibal, a pawn in some eldritch game; Freddie, a means to an end. It’s always the same. No one can love her on her own, not really.

So Abigail means to play the player first.

“Come to my room,” says one spider to the other. “I have something to show you. Something you can use.”

Freddie is too eager with her reply. “I can be there after breakfast tomorrow. They don’t allow visitors this late.”

“I’ll leave my window unlocked,” Abigail tells her; she sounds too innocent, even to her own ears. “No one will know; I get out all the time.”

“Abigail--”

“Please, Freddie. I...I have to see you tonight.”

Freddie sighs on the other end of the phone. “Alright. Give me a few minutes to get myself together. I’ll be on my way as soon as I can.” And the call goes dead.

It’s past lights out, so there will be no one to check on her. She isn’t on suicide watch; she doesn’t have meds. Only the moon looks after her now.

Abigail undresses down to her underwear and tank top after unlocking and cracking open the window. The air is cool, and her nipples peak almost immediately. Her breasts are small and firm; Abigail settles back against her pillow and cups them in her hands, thumbs teasing over her nipples, and _oh,_ it’s been so long since she was good to herself.

She feels warmth start to settle low in her belly, hums when it grows as she pinches and pulls and rolls. One hand drifts down her stomach, fingers dipping beneath the edge of her plain Jane panties, tips running over smooth skin. Abigail plants her feet on the mattress, bends her knees and hitches her hips, pushing two fingers inside herself. There’s no game plan here; all she wants for now is to stretch and search and stroke her walls to wetness.

The scent of her drifts into her nostrils, and that’s what she really wanted, for the air to smell like fresh sex and untouched youth. In and out, shallow and deep, eyes closed and lip clenched between her teeth. Abigail wishes she could see herself right now, could look down at her squirming on her psychiatric bed, could do more than feel the slightly manic smile that carves across her face.

She pulls out of her cunt and uses the same fingers to circle her clit, pushing against it every now and then. It’s lazy and electric and so, so good.

Abigail has no idea how long she lies there, switching back and forth, eventually just massaging her clit with all her fingers, then humping against the heel of her hand, bringing herself closer and closer before stopping, and if she weren’t mad already, then she’s driving herself to it.

And then she hears the window, and Freddie takes a shuddering breath. “Well holy Mary, Mother of God,” she says.

“Freddie,” Abigail whines, and she’s not sure who she’s manipulating at this point. “Freddie, please, it’s not enough, I’m not enough.”

“Ab--” Another deep breath, and Abigail knows Freddie can smell it now. She must be getting aroused; she’s seen the way Freddie looks at her when she’s not too busy chasing the story to notice, because Abigail’s a pro at this now. This is the only game she truly knows how to play.

Time to lay it on thick before Freddie has enough time to think it over. Before Abigail forgets that there’s another entirely self-serving reason for her seduction.

“Please, Freddie,” she begs, and Abigail takes her fingers from herself, beckons to Freddie with both arms open. “I _ache,_ Mama. Make it better.”

Freddie’s on her so fast Abigail’s head spins. “Fuck,” she says, stripping her shirt off as she kneels on the bed. “This is so many levels of fucking inappropriate.”

Abigail licks her lips and rubs herself over her panties. “Like you’ve never fucked a source before.”

“That’s a dirty word for such a pretty mouth.” Freddie leaves on her sports bra and sweats--she must have been in bed when Abigail called. “Here I thought you were a good girl.”

“I’ve been real bad, Mama.” Abigail tilts her head and smiles, lips pressed together saucily. “You don’t even know how bad I’ve been.”

Freddie pushes Abigail’s legs further apart and doesn’t even stop to take her underwear completely off, just tugs them down to mid-thigh. The material stretches and presses into Abigail’s skin; Freddie stretches out a hand and grips the back of Abigail’s neck, and then leans in and presses her mouth to the scar on her throat.

Abigail’s so shocked that she gasps, unable to decide if it’s good or bad. And then Freddie whispers, “It’s a good thing my baby girl wears a scarf,” and starts to suck and bite along it, and Abigail almost forgets why she called Freddie here in the first place. Freddie eases back a little, starts kissing over the marks she’s made over top of the one left by Abigail’s father. It’s frighteningly possessive, and Abigail giggles, thinking about what Hannibal will think when he realizes his daughter’s been claimed, because Hannibal will know. He knows everything.

“You ever been touched like this before?” Freddie asks her.

“Uh-uh,” Abigail sighs, eyes drifting closed again as Freddie nips at her throat once more. “You’re the first. Saved myself just for you, Mama.”

“Christ on a cracker, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I would _never_ kill Mama.”

Freddie kisses along her jaw, then pulls back and looks Abigail straight in the eye. “I know, sweetheart.” She pecks Abigail on the nose, never breaking eye contact. Freddie’s smiling when she asks, “You know how I know?”

Abigail shakes her head; she’s managed to get her breathing back under control.

“Because my name isn’t Nicholas Boyle,” and then she shoves three fingers into Abigail’s cunt.

It’s too much; it’s too fast; it’s impossible not to cant up into Freddie’s hand, and Abigail hears herself chanting, “Mama, Mama, Mama,” like a prayer that God won’t answer. He doesn’t listen to sinners anymore, and Abigail’s at the top of the list, she knows.

Freddie crooks her fingers, searching, and Abigail bites her forearm to keep from shouting. But she can’t breathe like that for long, and soon she’s pleading, “Kiss me, Mama, kiss it bet-- _ahhhh,_ better.”

“Where does it hurt, sweet girl?” Freddie looks positively predatory.

“My lips, please, kiss my lips.”

“Which ones?” she asks, smirking, but Freddie chooses for her, leans in and kisses her on the mouth, sucking pink lips red and dipping in her tongue while she thumbs Abigail’s clit and swallows her howls as she comes.

It’s wet, and Abigail’s never even been kissed before. Her lungs burn, because it doesn’t occur to her to breathe through her nose. Freddie’s still fucking her with her fingers, and Abigail crests again, is reduced to nothing but muffled moans and shaking hands on Freddie’s breasts. She comes, and keeps coming, and eventually thinks to link her fingers behind Freddie’s neck because she’s too limp to move. It’s never been like this before, when she plays with herself; Abigail comes once, feels relaxed, and goes to sleep, and that’s that.

Freddie seems to be on a mission to see how many times she can come before she passes out. Abigail’s racked with pleasure, her throat hoarse, her clit sore, but she doesn’t care, just keeps begging into her Mama’s mouth for more.

Finally, Freddie pulls her hand free and gets up. Abigail is still dazed, but not so out of it that she can’t appreciate Freddie manhandling her body down the bed; her legs dangle over the edge. Freddie slips out of her sweats and underwear in one go, and then she’s crawling up over Abigail. She leans down long enough to kiss her nice and slow, then keeps going until she’s bracing her hands against the wall.

“Mama’s turn,” says Freddie, and then she’s lowering herself over Abigail’s face.

She’s not sure what to do, especially not in the afterglow, but Abigail raises her hands to settle on Freddie’s hips and pulls her down farther, until the lower half of her face is practically buried in Freddie’s cunt. Abigail licks and laps clumsily, and the taste of her is somewhat sour, but Abigail doesn’t mind. Freddie’s hair tickles and scratches Abigail’s skin; the view more than makes up for it, Freddie towering above her like a goddess, face framed by long red curls, eyes boring into Abigail’s.

It doesn’t take long for Abigail to give up on Freddie’s cunt. By instinct, she points her tongue and prods at her clit, and Freddie swears quietly above her. That’s enough motivation for Abigail; she clutches Freddie’s hips to hold her steady and then alternates licking and sucking her clit. Abigail decides sucking is her favorite, because Freddie closes her eyes and breathes out the best words.

“That’s it, baby,” she says softly, and Freddie runs her fingers through Abigail’s hair, presses herself down against her face like she’s fucking her mouth.

Abigail groans into her, helplessly turned on all over again. She lets go of Freddie’s hips, lets her ride her face with abandon. It takes a little maneuvering, and Abigail’s feeling light-headed from stolen breath again, but then she’s fingering herself again with on hand, and rubbing her clit with the other, and she’s raw and it hurts but she doesn’t care, and soon she’s sobbing, “Mama,” right into Freddie, lets it echo into her body to get lost in the deep and the wet and the dark.

Freddie comes with both hands in Abigail’s hair, clutching and pulling and rough, quietly laughing above her, head thrown back.

Afterglow doesn’t seem to hit Freddie like it did Abigail. She’s slinking back down Abigail’s body soon after; she licks the taste of herself off of Abigail’s face, then kisses her again, pushing her tongue into Abigail’s slack mouth. When she’s done, Freddie falls to lie beside her, pulling Abigail over to rest her head against her breasts.

“That was unexpected,” she says after a long time of lying still, both of them listening to the breeze rustle through the trees outside the open window. “Didn’t even know you had a crush on me.”

“You wanted me, too,” says Abigail. “Don’t deny it.”

“I’m a decade older than you.”

“I don’t care.”

Freddie smells Abigail’s hair, then kisses the top of her head as best she can from her position. “You don’t seem to care about a lot of things, little girl.”

Abigail smiles and presses herself further into Freddie’s bosom. She can hear her heart beating, knows how easy it would be to cut it out and keep it so it would always be hers. But that’s another, different Abigail, the one that’s owned by the Minnesota forests. This Abigail just wants to draw life from a willing mother, as long as she’ll keep her safe, as long as she _wants_ her, or at least pretends to.

“You gonna tell Jack?” she asks.

“Your secret’s as safe with me as anybody else’s is,” Freddie tells her. “Besides, I’m perfectly content to accuse Will Graham. He creeps me out. Probably a killer at heart, anyway.”

“Maybe, I guess.” _It’s probably for the best,_ Abigail adds to herself. _He’d do anything to protect me._

“What about you, baby? You okay with framing a supposedly innocent man?”

“Yeah,” says Abigail, content, pleased, closing her eyes as Freddie trails her fingers down her spine. “Will can’t really be the kind of daddy I want, anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> And they connived and coerced and manipulated happily ever after.
> 
> You can find me on my [tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/). I also chirp occasionally witty things on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan).
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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